What do you know. Turns out that three deaths* in just over three and a bit years is my limit.
Turns out I'm a lightweight that way.
Turns out a retreat under a metaphorical duvet was needed after the second deathbed, and the second body, and the second funeral and the second choosing of coffins, and readings and cremations and it all just brought back everything - and I didn't even have the bloody pills I was prescribed after the dog died.

But let's skip to the good news. There's a limit to how long I can spend in a self pitying fog.

Which is lucky because The One Remaining Aunt (TORA!) has also had her problems. My mother has been visiting her in her dreams. No really. TORA is quite insistent on this. And because TORA is not the most sensible person on the planet, well maybe she is psychic, so you know, hang in with me here. Anyway, apparently my mother is annoyed, and exasperated, and trying to tell TORA something. She's shaking keys, and walking away.
And she's doing this on a quite regular basis.

TORA reckons she's telling us there is another will. Without saying anything to TORA, I suspect that if my mother is creating in psychic space it's very likely to be because her remains are still out at the crematorium and she wants to go home. Actually, come to think of even if there is no such thing as an afterlife, my mother's remains were definitely overdue for collection from the crematorium.

This is a long preamble to me saying I collected my mother from the crematorium.

Then the problems started. I didn't know where to put her.
She couldn't come back to mine, because I still have W's ashes and they hated each other in life. In death there would be one unholy conflagration. Cheesetown could be annihalted.

So she had to go back to hers.
But where at hers?

It seemed too Norman Bates to leave her urn in her old seat in the living room. A wee bit odd putting it in the window.
Odder still to put her urn on her bed..What you going to do? Tuck it in?
She couldn't be in the kitchen. We still use that. That would be wrong.
And what kind of person would put their mother in the hall cupboard? With the shoes? When she only had one leg?
And she couldn't go in the garden; it's going to rain till Christmas

Sigh. She's in the back of the car for now. I'll figure this out later.

*If you count Ned, which my god I do.

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27 Response to "Another question for our times"

Exactly why I left my ex husband at the crematorium for 18months... he is now mainly scattered at the beach but a small part remains to be taken to the mountain where he died - sitting in the box, by the front door, near the dogs ashes, where I see them all the time. It would have bothered me once - now it doesn't, but perhaps it is because i said goodbye when we did scatter the rest of them. They are heavy - it was a surprise.

Today I went to a funeral of someone's mother. She was 94. My own mother is 81. I know it will come soon and it will be hard. I can quite understand why it might be the final straw. The first two deaths have been quite hard enough - in my on case I can only hope it will be a few years before I have to deal with it whereas you have had it over too short a time - I do hope you feel better soon, but I know it takes time.The finality and total loss of the person is so hard. Memories just don't make up for it.

Ah ... now I understand why your blog's been quiet, and your comment about O-bon.

You need a butsudan! That's a Japanese home shrine where a deceased's ashes are kept until it's taken to the grave. Japan seems to be remarkably at ease with death, ancestors, spirit worlds and crossing over between realms.

Lightweight? I think not. I hope the metaphorical duvet does a good job.

PS: My mother is 88 and not healthy. I read your posts, and I start shivering ...

My mother was quite clear: she wanted to be scattered in her beloved father's playground - round Ennerdale Lake. Unfotunately she died abroad on my sister's territory who had plans to dole her out hither and yon - like dolly mixtures.All negotiations over the phone and eventually her ashes - somewhat depleted I'm sure, were delivererd and - with MTL, my son and family we carried out her wishes - aging a good ten years in the process.If you know of somewhere, where your mother was happy, that would seem a good place to scatter.

Good to see you've come out from under the duvet to chat with us again. It must have been very hard to cope with all of this.

My dad's ashes were delivered back to my mum rather too quickly and she was so put out by this, that he stayed on a shelf in the garage for a few weeks. But Mum found this a bit unsettling whenever she had to go in there. His ashes are now in the garden and we planted a plum tree to mark the spot. Looks like we may have a good crop this year! Good old Dad!

My Mum and Dad's ashes sit in the storage room at the funeral home. Which is what they specified in their instructions, only my brother insisted they be buried in a nice, Catholic cemetary. I left it up to him to make the arrangements. It's been five and a half years... AND involved a trip across town with my Dad's ashes in my lap.

Honestly, sweetie, you are doing really, really well. Three in three years is completely overwhelming (I know of which I speak) but the fog lifts eventually.

I worked as a courier delivering delayed luggage for a local airport for a number of years. Most days I would be delivering maybe only one or two pieces. One particular day my load was just a small box, so I kept it on the passenger seat rather than in the back of the van. Getting nearer my destination I rang the pax's number, 'Oh hi' she said, 'Yeah, you got my Mom!'. :¬)

My brother (who had the contract with the airport) often had to deliver horse sperm! :¬)

Bloody hell Macy, you've been through the mill. Good to see you back in blogsville anyway. We still have our much loved cat's ashes. Can't quite decide where to scatter her (5 yrs on) so she sits in her little box beside the bookcase. I think it's about time really.

My mother deceided that she'd have her urn interred in an anonymous grave. My father followed her suite, not in dying there was a nearly ten year's gap, but in deceiding what to do. Can't remeber what made me more stand besides my former self, her death by cancer or his sudden heart attack - anyway I did what I was expected to do, as always.And after all, I see some Weisheit in it. No place to mourn, to visit, and it is not necessary, at least for me, I do not need this grave-thing. And yes, I would not want to have an Urne in my living room. I can not explain it, because it grabs something, well "deep".Can not say that I think much of my parents - or the friends I burried through the 2000s - they come and go, and if they have something to say they tell me, mostly in a way I can understand. BEing a piece of rock that means that they hammer me something into my brain and then vanish, but I think that's family tradition.

I want you to take care of yerself. It is important.

The urn - depends whether you want a place like a shrine or something - I do not know you well enough for this at all, so please accept my excuseses and I say sorry for blabbing, Macy - or just use it as a kind of ornament on one of the not so much looked at windows.For me it's just an object - and it would be just an object if it was filled with the remains of my mother: Maybe I'd store it somewhere in the cupboards beside a piece of art she made or would simply put it in the garden besides some flowers she liked. But seriously I am thankful that they both arranged for me not being confronted with this problem.

Glad you are blogging again Macy..missed you. I think you seem to face lifes (and deaths) challenges remarkably well and just get on with things...and come out the other end ok by the sound of things...I wish you well with your decisions re your Ma....and hope life treats you a bit better soon!

When my husband died, I knew instantly that it was the right thing to do to take his ashes to where his Dad's had been scattered almost 30 years before.Holding Steve's urn and travelling through 3 countries with it didn't actually feel as if I was travelling with him; it was just a box in a sports bag that I had to carry with me for 12 hours until reaching my sister-in-law's house in Yorkshire.The weight comes less from the body and more from the coffin which, of course, turns into ashes as well...Steve's remains were scattered in what is called "Garden of Remembrance" near Barnsley. His cousin, who loved him like a brother, did it, and it was heartwrenching to see this sturdy, grown man cry like a little child while he was doing that.All I could think of at that moment was that I didn't want to get the ashes on my shoes and tights. I'd done most of my crying already by then.

They are heavy aren't they? I went with a friend to pick up her mother and we carried her round town with us before returning home. Passing her between us when our arms ached. My friend had the same problem as you and now her mother resides in the back if a horse box until inspiration hits. She must ave been there two years by now!I hope you will feel better soon.

I've never had to grapple with this and I guess there will always been unholy conflagrations with all my family too. I guess my parents would always want to be scattered out to sea on the beach they live in, I should ask them next time. Dad is currently in Manchester on his bucket list saying bubye to his cousins so I guess he has thought about this.

Wow, Macy, there's always something to be dealing with. My folk got buried with other family members, so this is a whole set of decisions that I have no idea about. I like having a graveyard to visit, and, pathetically, I bring them pebbles.

I'm glad to see you out from under the duvet for a bit, retreat when you need to, you and the Cherub have been through the wars x

Welcome to the car crash...

I have a complicated bereavement. I was only reconciled with my ex, W, months before he died of cancer. Luckily (for him) I was made redundant and able to care for him while he died here at home - October 20th.Currently getting through it with our son, aka the Cherub, dog Ned, and friends here in CHEESETOWN.